


Metamorphosis

by skybound2



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drama, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/pseuds/skybound2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cerberus claimed that they brought Shepard back the same, just with a few upgrades. Shepard's not so sure. (Explores the after-effects of Shepard becoming a biotic. Two takes on the situation, using two different Shepards.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take One

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered what must be going through a Shepard's mind when they discovered they went from not being a biotic, to suddenly having the 'Reave' ability. Seemed like, of all the biotic abilities, that one was most likely to result in emotional trauma to the Commander. This fic is a bit experimental, in that I wanted to tackle the same situation using two different Shepards. This first part features M!Shepard adjusting to the changes he has undergone. The second take features F!Shepard and Miranda having themselves a little discussion. Hope you enjoy! And again, still getting back on the fanfic horse. One word at a time.

* * *

**Take One**

* * *

 

There are few things that are certain in this universe. One of them, Shepard always assumed, was that - barring any horrible, disfiguring accidents - the face that would greet you in the mirror every morning, would be the same one that would be there before bed every night.

 

And, he figured, even if you _were_ an unfortunate bastard whose face was irreparably damaged in a firefight (or the equivalent) you could always rest easy knowing that the soul that would stare out from your eyes was always the same.

 

How wrong he had been.

 

The transparent face staring back at him through the reflection of his fish tank glass is the same as it ever was. Better, even, then it was before. The scar he'd grown accustomed to across is gone. The skin there over his nose, unblemished. But it's a stranger that stares back at him through his eyes.

 

Eyes that aren't his anymore. Not really. _His_ eyes never had that faint edging of red glowing around the rims. Evidence of the cybernetic tin-man he's become.

 

He should be grateful. Should be happy that he isn't a sack of blood and bones rotting in the wreckage of his old ship. But he finds that emotion impossible to catch. In it's place is a churning kind of anger. Anger at the Alliance for giving up on him, at Anderson for not trusting him, at the Council for not believing him, at Cerberus for resurrecting his ass like some fucked up zombie and sticking a damn biotic implant in his skull.

 

He channels that anger, that burst of rage, into a blast of energy that sweeps from his chest, down his arm, out through his fingers, to hit the tank with a sonic rattle. It moves through the water with a swirl, and a flash of heat fills him - like he just mainlined a stim-pack - as the life is sucked out of all the fish in the tank, and they go bobbing to the surface like little balloons. The sight of them makes him feel vaguely nauseated, even while his body thrums with energy.

 

He's alive. There is blood pumping in his veins, and air swelling his lungs. But the core of him, who he was at the most base level, has changed. Replaced with someone who sucks down souls like some goddamn vampire.

 

Someone who, though he's loathe to admit it - even to himself - _likes_ the feeling when he does. Someone who is eager for that exact moment during every fight when he can unleash this new ability on his enemies. For the moment when he can feel them, their _essence_ , filter into his own. The rush of it unlike anything else he has ever known. Ever experienced.

 

It should disturb him that he is more sorry for the loss of his fish, than he is for anyone else he has killed this way.

 

But it really doesn't. And it is that fact alone that makes him wonder, just how much has he changed? Miranda claims that there is nothing _wrong_ with him. That he is exactly the same as he has always been, just with the benefit of a few upgrades.

 

Which makes him wonder: if he is the same as he's always been, what does it say about him that he enjoys this new power so much? What does it say about all his decisions in the past? All his choices? He's never worn the mantle of 'Butcher' with pride, swearing that he only did what any good marine would do.

 

But did he really? Was there really no other option? The thought sinks in his abdomen, thick and heavy, and threatening to drag him down under its weight. For a few minutes, it leaves him unsettled, just staring through his own reflection at the dead, bobbing fish.

 

Eventually, the feeling passes, and he pushes away from the wall to start the familiar, methodical process of cleaning the carcasses out of the tank. A tiny voice - one that grows steadily louder with each passing minute - telling him that he only did his job then, as he is only doing his job now. And is it really so wrong for him to maybe, just maybe, feel the barest hint of pleasure when he does? A reward for a job well done? For time served.

 

As the last fish drops with a loud, squishing sound into the disposal receptacle, he squares his shoulders and decides that yes. Yes it is. To enjoy what he can do... no. Nothing about that is okay. He needs to just focus on the mission, focus on getting his job done. And remember _why_ he has to do what he does - not how it might feel when does it.

 

Focus on the fact that despite the reddening eyes, and his knew found...talent...nothing about him as truly changed. This ability is just...an upgrade. A new weapon in his arsenal. And if he feels different, well that's just the after-effects of being dead. It'll pass.

 

He focuses on his reflection once more, and forces the words out like the mantra they have become in recent weeks: "I'm exactly the same as I've always been."

 

The empty fish tank doesn't respond.

 

_Aren't I?_

_  
_

~End


	2. Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for take two! Featuring F!Shepard and Miranda having themselves a little discussion. Blatant reference to Joss Whedon, Mary Shelley, and even a tiny Humpty Dumpty one (this Shepard seems to like old books and old vids, what can I say). Enjoy!

* * *

****

**Take Two**

* * *

"So, turns out I'm a vampire."

 

Miranda's entire body tenses. Fingers pausing in their typing as she slowly lifts her eyes towards the doorway to her office, where - lounging against the jam - is her commanding officer. Fresh off the shuttle from her most recent mission, the woman hasn't even bothered to clean the blood and grim off her uniform. Which isn't all that surprising, given that she has clearly lost her mind, if her last statement is anything to go by. "Pardon?"

 

"Those 'upgrades' you gave me?" Shepard lifts her hands to make little quote marks in the air as she says the word 'upgrades,' a slippery smile gracing her face as she look does nothing to install confidence into the XO. Two steps bring her into the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a hiss. "Try as I might I can't manage a decent throw. Can't even lift so much as a coffee mug using those very expensive biotic implants you and your lot were so _kind_ to give me."

 

Wariness settles in Miranda's core as she notes the potentially volatile tenor in Shepard's voice. "Commander, as I've expressed before, with practice you should be able to develop your biotic capabilities to-"

 

"'To within a seventy-five to eighty percent comparable range as those possessed by long-term, or early developmental stage, eezo exposed individuals.'' Shepard's voice is mocking, the cadences suspiciously similar to Miranda's own, and it is all that she can do not to scowl in response. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard that tune a time or two at this point, Lawson. And you know what? It's utter shit. I've _been_ practicing. Every day. Every mission. You have any idea just how many bloody noses I've had since I woke up?"

 

"Fourteen. At least, that was the number listed in the last report I received from Dr. Chakwas."

 

One of Shepard's eyebrows arches, and that same smile slides back onto her face, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back on one booted heel. The uneasy feeling in Miranda's gut doubles. "Nice to know that you still take such an interest in your monster, Dr. Frankenstein."

 

Miranda closes her eyes briefly at the overly dramatic statement - it's the only thing she can think of to keep from rolling them instead. An action that she can't imagine Shepard appreciating much at the moment. "You aren't a monster, Commander -"

 

"No?" At this, the Commander's arms fall away from her chest, towards her sides, before swinging forward as she bends slightly at the waist. Hands balled up into fists make silent contact with Miranda's desk as the other woman's weight comes to rest on her knuckles. Lips pressed together in a thin line as she seems to consider her second in command. The scent of grease and heat cartridge residue pollutes the air between them.

 

Despite the overall intimidation factor that the Commander is going for, Miranda has too much dignity to squirm, no matter how strong the urge may be. An urge that only grows when the Commander speaks, her voice low, even, and colder than Noveria on a mid-winters day.

 

"Then tell me, _exactly_ , what would you call someone who can suck the life out of you from a hundred meters away, without blinking an eye? What would you call someone who can drain the energy from your body, use it to heal their own wounds, and leave you nothing but a soon-to-be rotting corpse? Because as it turns out? I can do that."

 

"I - excuse me?" The corners of Shepard's mouth pull down in a frown, one that Miranda thinks she might actually be mirroring. She can do _what_ now? "My apologizes, Commander, but I'm not sure what you're talking about."

 

The deepening frown on Shepard's face tells Miranda that she doesn't entirely believe her. She's right not to, of course. Miranda has _heard_ of some high-level biotics being able to do what Shepard is describing. She's just never been a witness to it is all. And she's certainly never met someone with that ability before.

 

And she absolutely _never_ expected Shepard to be capable of such a thing. L5 implant or not. The amount of eezo that Cerberus authorized the Commander to be exposed to during reconstruction was nowhere near high enough to allow for such a power to develop. And yet...

 

"You're telling me this wasn't intentional? That you and all your little horses didn't deliberately put me back together with this in mind? That you didn't plan for me to be able to suck the life out of people at will?"

 

Miranda blinks. The idea is so absurd, that it takes her several moments to even process it. "I can assure you, Commander, that while our intentions during your reconstruction-"

 

"Resurrection."

 

"-did include the addition of some, _minor_ biotic abilities, we - at no point - intended for them to manifest in such a way."

 

The skeptical eyebrow returns, but it is accompanied with a less-intense stare. One that seems more genuinely assessing, and less like it is searching out weak spots so it can go in for the kill. "Really?"

 

"Really. There is quite a lot that Cerberus is able to accomplish." Shepard snorts, but Miranda ignores it, and plows on. "Obviously. You're existence is proof of that. But even we aren't advanced enough as to be able to program in preferred biotic abilities. No matter how many creds we spend."

 

Several breaths pass as the Commander continues to observe Miranda. The XO waits patiently for her to finish. Doing her best to keep her expression neutral. Eventually, Shepard seems to find whatever it was she is looking for, and nods her head once before pushing off from Miranda's desk and stepping towards the door. "Good, because if I find out you're lying?" Shepard shrugs, her lips quirking as the door opens to allow for her exit. "Turns out I can kill you with my brain." With that parting jab, and an all too-disturbing smile, Shepard leaves.

 

Once she's gone, the tension in Miranda's abdomen lessens minutely. The space that it vacates fills up quickly with curiosity, however. An insatiable need to understand what the hell just happened. "EDI?"

 

"Yes, Ms. Lawson."

 

"Pull up all the surveillance feeds for Shepard's last mission, I'll view them at my private terminal."

 

"Certainly, Ms. Lawson."

 

Miranda settles back in her seat, earlier tasks forgotten, and swivels her terminal to face her. Right now she needs to find out what the hell is going on with Shepard, because from the sounds of it, The Illusive Man will certainly want to be briefed on this new development.

 

~End


End file.
